Did all women who couldn’t have children feel like this? Maybe they did, but Em’s solution horrified Sophia.
‘I love it,’ she said soundly, even defiantly, because she did. Of course she did. ‘And you have fun at … Where are you going?’
‘The Rooftop Bar. Madeleine just happened to mention to your Dr Evans that we might be there.’ She grinned and started searching her bag for her lipstick. ‘If you’re not interested …’
‘He’s all yours,’ Em said tightly. ‘Best of luck. The supermarket’s waiting for me. Whoo-hoo, a fabulous night for both of us.’
‘Right,’ Sophia said dryly. ‘Em, I wish …’
‘Well, don’t wish,’ Em said, more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Don’t even think about it. This is the life I chose for myself, and I’m happy. Dr Oliver Evans might be at the bar and I guess that’s the life he’s chosen, too. We’re all where we want to be, and we can’t ask for more than that.’
Oliver’s day wasn’t supposed to be frantic. Weren’t new staff supposed to have an orientation day, a shift where they spent the time acquainting themselves with ward and theatre staff, meeting everyone in the canteen, arranging stuff in their office? Not so much. Harry, it seemed, had left in a hurry. His lady had been enticing; he’d left without giving proper notice and the work had backed up.
Apart from that, Harry hadn’t had specialist in-utero surgical training. It seemed that word of Oliver’s arrival had flown around Melbourne before he arrived. He had three consultations lined up for the afternoon and more for the next day.
Ruby’s case was probably the most complex. No, it was the most complex, he thought, mostly because the scans showing the extent of the problem had made him wince.
Plus she was alone. His next mum, Lucy, arrived with a support cast, husband, parents, an entourage of six. Her baby had a congenital heart malfunction. The little boy in utero was a twenty-four-weeker. He needed an aortic valvuloplasty—opening the aortic foetal heart valves to allow blood flow. It was one of the most common reasons for in-utero surgery, the one that Oliver was most comfortable with—as long as he had the backup of decent cardiac surgeons.
Oliver had already met Tristan Hamilton, the Victoria’s neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon—in fact, they’d gone to university together. Tristan had backed up Charles’s calls, pressuring him to come, and he had been one of the inducements. Tristan was incredibly skilled, and if he could work side by side with him, for this mum, things were likely to be fine.
But what seemed wrong was that Lucy and her little boy had huge family backup—and Ruby had no one.
But Ruby had Em.
That had to be compensation. Em would be terrific.
If indeed she was with her. She’d been running late that morning. She’d looked harassed, like she had one too many balls in the air.
She’d come flying into Ruby’s room half an hour after she’d hit his car, burbling about an early delivery. Really? Or had she spent the half hour on the phone to her insurance people?
It was none of his business.
Still, it was a niggle …
Isla Delamere was the Victoria’s head midwife—plus she was the daughter of the CEO. Apparently she’d also just become engaged to the hospital’s neonatal intensive care specialist. Isla was not a person to mess with, he’d decided. He’d been introduced to her by Charles, and as he was about to leave he saw her again.
‘You have how many in-utero procedures lined up for me?’ he said, half joking. ‘You guys believe in throwing me in at the deep end.’
‘You just do the surgery,’ she said, smiling. ‘My midwives will keep everything running smoothly. I have the best team …’
‘My midwife this morning was running late.’ He shouldn’t have said it. He knew it the moment he’d opened his mouth. The last thing he wanted was to get Em into trouble and this woman had power at her fingertips, but Isla didn’t seem bothered.
‘I’m sorry about that. We had three births within fifteen minutes of each other just as Em came on duty. I know her care of Ruby’s a priority, but one of the births was prem, the mum was out of her tree, and there’s no one better at calming a frantic mum than Em. I only used her for the final fifteen minutes but it made a difference. You did cope by yourself until then?’
She raised her beautifully formed eyebrows quizzically … head midwife wondering if surgeon could cope without a little assistance …
Right. He’d got his answer but now Isla thought he was a wimp. Great start.
‘Some of the staff are going to the Rooftop Bar after work,’ Isla told him. ‘Have you been invited? You’re welcome to join us.’
‘Thanks but I have a problem to sort.’
‘Your car?’ She was still smiling and, he thought, that was just the sort of thing that hospital staff the world over enjoyed. Specialist’s car being trashed, especially since most staff here could never afford to run a car like Betsy.
He loved that car and now she was a mess. But …
‘Em’s promised to sort it,’ Isla told him. ‘She’s not the sort of woman to let her insurance lapse.’
‘It’s not the insurance …’
‘And she’s really sorry. She was stricken when she first came in this morning. She’s been so busy all day I suspect she hadn’t had time to apologise but—’
‘Will she be at the bar now?’
‘Em? Heavens, no. She has two kids waiting for her at home.’
‘Two?’
‘Gretta’s four and Toby’s two. They’re special kids but, wow, they’re demanding.’
‘I guess …’ And then he asked because he couldn’t help himself. Had a miracle happened? Gretta’s four … She must have moved like the wind. ‘Her partner …’ He knew there couldn’t have been a marriage because there’d never been a divorce but … there must be someone. ‘Is he a medic? Does she have help?’
But Isla’s eyebrows hit her hairline. Her face closed, midwife protecting her own. ‘I guess that’s for you to ask Em if it’s important for you to know,’ she said shortly, clearing her desk, making signals she was out of there. Off to the Rooftop Bar to join her colleagues? ‘She doesn’t talk about her private life. Is there anything else you need?’
More information, he thought, and he’d bet Isla knew everything he wanted to know. But he couldn’t push without opening a can of worms. Evans was a common name. Em had clearly not told anyone there was a connection.
Better to leave it that way, maybe.
‘Thanks, no.’
‘Goodnight, then. And good luck with the car. You might let Em know when you have it sorted. She’s beating herself up
